


Just One Wish

by Shinocchi



Category: sweet pool
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot Devices, Post-Canon, Reminiscing, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-21 14:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinocchi/pseuds/Shinocchi
Summary: If we wish hard enough, perhaps miracles will come true, and perhaps, this time, eternity will belong to us.Post-Miracles May, Grand Ending.





	1. In the road yet unseen

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been trying to find out the answer to what has happened in the Grand Ending of sweet pool and spent the entire of May replaying the games and looking into possible hints. [This post](http://shinocchidesu.net/post/162323625994/sweet-pool-endings-after-thoughts) is the end result of everything. Everyone might have a different set of interpretations about how these endings are to them but I'm very glad to have found an answer for myself, and have then decided to write the continuation to how I visualize the ending to be. I'd recommend you to read the post first before reading this as some parts might (I'm not sure if it would but just in case :p) or might not make sense to you. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

`Miracle.`

`If one believes in it, perhaps it is something that truly exists.`

`If miracle happens to one person, perhaps it’s not totally impossible after all.`

`Then, how about eternity?`

`Does eternity exist?`

`A concept so ambiguous, so intangible; a concept that no one living person could ever verify the reality of it.`

`If miracle exists, would eternity exist then?`

`If eternity exists, could miracles be a reality then?`

`If that’s the case, how much does a person need to do to be able to achieve them? How far does a person need to go to be able to touch just the edge of it?`

`Is it possible for a person to achieve both? Or do they have to choose between both?`

 

\-- `Does a person have to choose between a heartbeat of a moment, or a happily ever after, to be able to achieve both miracle, _and_ eternity?`

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t any concrete reason to why Tetsuo would often choose to sit by the window. Perhaps he wasn’t one who’d like to hang out with his classmates, perhaps he simply didn’t want to be the centre of attention, more than he already was. Or perhaps, all he wanted was to take his own time spacing out, thinking of nothing, finding it to be more gratifying than having to listen to lessons which he’d come to understand like the back of his hand.

Deciding on a science major seemed like a natural for him. He’d known how easy it was for him to grasp the concepts behind them ever since high school. But even so, it wasn’t like his high school memories were any distinctive anyway. Everything that he could remember from it was the fact of how similar it was to everything he was doing now – in this university – everyday was the same routine: class, minding his own business, staying out of troubles, a part-time job, and then home. He didn’t have the time-out to hang out after school, nor did he ever want to be involved with any clubs activities or any social interactions with anyone else at all. The sole consideration that’d occupied his mind was how much he needed to pay back his parents after all the quandaries he’d caused them.

Especially with what had happened in high school.

He was adopted; he owed his foster parents significantly. There’s no reason for him to act in any way that’d worry them. Truthfully, he couldn’t quite remember what happened himself. With daunted memories, all that he knew what that he’d woken up in the hospital one day, wrapped in bandages, his mind a piece of white, the _beep, beep_ sound of the machine right by his bedside the only thing he could hear. Worse of all, his parents cried the instance they saw him being awake, telling him enough of how much of a distress he’d caused them. He’d never known how concerned his parents could be towards him, and he was proven wrong on that very day itself.

It was like a huge slap of reality in his face. He felt as if he’d done everything wrong. He should never make them cry like this. He never had the rights to.

Days after that had gone pass as if everything was prearranged for him. He hardly needed to contemplate what he should do in his life now, all that he needed to do was to focus on his studies, excel all of them, get into a virtuous university, find a respectable job, and try as hard as he could to give back to his parents in compensation of everything he’d taken from them.

The mundane lifestyle was the best for him. Or so he thought. Whenever he sat in class, he’d find himself unconsciously shifting his gaze to the seat just a few slots in front of him, as if he was expecting to see someone, or to find something. When he came back to himself, he could only frown, realizing how insensible that very thought was. He didn’t know where it came from; he felt as if he’d forgotten about something important but eventually, those thoughts faded away with every passing day. And bit by bit, he started getting used to it, taking it as an aftermath of the traumatic incident as he forced himself to move on, and to forget about it.

Whatever it was, it was something that had happened in the past. The past didn’t matter anymore.

He released an unintended sigh as he stared out of the window. Classes were still ongoing, he still excelled his majors; everything seemed to be moving on the most natural, easiest route for him. Everything was fine.

He only came back to himself when buzzes were heard and everyone around him started moving out of their seats. Stuffing his books into his bag, he slung his bag over one shoulder, and was about to walk out of the lecture hall when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Shironuma!”

He gave the person a fleeting look. He already knew who it was without having to respond. The man who’d been sitting behind him ever since he’d started classes in this new environment was grinning at him.

“Joining us for a drink later?” the man asked. He was just a tad shorter than Tetsuo but was noticeably way more outgoing than him. It sort of reminded Tetsuo of someone he knew from high school, even though he was never one to ask Tetsuo out like how this person did.

“I’ll pass.”

“Again? You said you’d join us one day.”

“One day,” Tetsuo responded briefly, already walking out of the hall. The man tailed after him, chasing after his steps.

“C’mon, we’re all anticipating you to join us.”

Why were they so tenacious, anyway? He was sure that he wasn’t a person whom one would want to be involved with, let alone hanging out with. He was discreet most of the time, staying in his own bubble. There’s absolutely no merit from being friendly with him.

“I’ve got a part-time job to attend to after this,” he brushed off. That wasn’t true, but perhaps he could call in and request for a change of shift now.

“Ah, I see. That’s too bad then,” the man shrugged. “I guess there’s always a next time.”

“Sure,” Tetsuo answered docilely. As they came near to the front gate, the man gave him a hasty wave, then throttling away, leaving Tetsuo to sigh wishfully as he watched him joining a group of people – whom he recognized to his own course mates as well – in a distance.

Taking spontaneous steps down the pathway, he soon come to stand on the platform, waiting for the train. It’s a routine. Every day, he’d follow the same route, seeing the same scenery, thinking about the same thing, and before he knew it, a day would come to an end. One day after one day, one week after one week, then one year after one year. The same thing; the same ol’ thing. Nothing had changed. Nothing will change.

He was caught in his own thoughts that when the train pulled in, he found himself staring at a group of high school students, standing on the opposite platform, also waiting for the train. He recognized the uniforms. They were the same as the high school he used to attend. Seeing them like this made him realize how much time had passed when he wasn’t aware of it. Every now and then, he felt as if he wasn’t himself anymore, that someone was living as him, that the true him was hidden somewhere, waiting for him to discover him all over again. He couldn’t quite explicate what had made him feel this way but it came off as a sort of frustration – like a tousled clutter of wool – living deep within him that he would never be able to unravel. He didn’t even know where he should start with.

He stepped onto the train then, still staring at the group of students as they left his scrutiny, leaving him in a muddled state of mind, wondering if there’s something wrong with him that had given him this sort of sentiment.

 

* * *

 

The sentiment only became more belligerent the next day, having him to stare awake past midnight, then throughout the night, thinking about nothing.

Something was starting to change within him and while he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was, he could clearly feel it. Call it a hunch, or just him overthinking. But there’s no way he could live like this anymore; there’s no way he could lay off a feeling so strong it’s as if it’s attempting to burn his insides into ash.

He thought he’s fine having to live like this. He didn’t have anything in particular that he wanted to do anyway. There’s nothing he wanted. He’s busy every day and it’s all fine.

The thoughts shadowed him throughout the entire day; he felt like a walking zombie. And while he tried to distract himself, he found himself getting off a station one stop before his own with absolutely no reason at all.

He didn’t know why he was here. Probably it was purely for a change of mood, perhaps he simply needed a breath of new air to clear these tangled thoughts off his mind.

This week had been especially hard for him. He can’t seem to settle himself down – very much unlike himself – and he kept feeling this constrict in his throat, a weight in his chest, and something in the corner of his brain that he couldn’t quite put a name on. So perhaps this was necessary – him getting off a stop before his own station, just to be able to breathe again.

Now that he thought about it, this might not be the first time he was feeling so. All this while, he’d been trying hard to brush these feelings aside, struggling to convince himself that he was still trying to recuperate from the shock of the incident. But it’d taken too long – five years – and no one in the right mind would have allowed themselves to feel so disconcerting for so long. Things only become worse when he came to acknowledge of the fact that his memories weren’t completed, then finding himself acting like this, doing things that he’d no idea of why he would. He thought it’d pass with time, that it was just a phase, until when he met his mother after having not been meeting her for a long time that he noticed that he’d come to change without himself noticing it. It’s not the kind of ‘change’ one would experience as they grew; it’s a change that was reverting him to the person he was before he lost his memories.

Somewhere out there, there lived a part of himself that he’d once knew, now forgotten.

He existed, he was sure of it. Even though there’s no explanation to it. Yet, the feeling of himself having lived – or once lived – in a world that was nothing but abnormal was so vivid as if it was something he’d experienced just yesterday.

Standing on the platform, he spaced out again, scrutinising around the space, until when the announcer’s voice vibrated that he hitched a breath. He could hear the sound of train approaching.

He caught sight of a few students standing on the opposite platform, a repetition of yesterday’s scene. The melancholy from yesterday persisted – seeing the students reminded him of his high school days, when everyone around him were just enjoying themselves, when everything was… _normal_.

The busy clattering in the classroom.

Conducting experiments in the Chemistry Lab. Buying food from the canteen.

Studying for tests. The frustrations on the students’ faces.

The voices of his classmates promising each other to meet up after school.

The rooftop.

The smell of chlorine carried by the gentle breeze.

 _He_ ’d always sit by the fence.

All _he_ ever had was a packet of drink.

 _He_ never accepted his bread no matter how many times he was to offer to _him_.

He grazed a light gaze at _him_ , out of the corner of his eyes.

His black hair, his fair skin, his distrustful gaze, one that portrayed of cynicism towards whoever he’d first met.

This was the place where they wondered about eternity.

About the existence of it.

About promises.

The promises they made.

…

…Eternity?

His thought process was interrupted by the sound of train piercingly pulling into the station. He thought he’d seen a dream, just within that short few seconds of time. He didn’t even notice when he’d started spacing out again.

Were those memories from his high school days? They felt more like a dream than an actual memory. They were all surreal. Perhaps they were _really_ fragments of his lost memories. He tried to remember again. But all that he’d gotten out of those attempts was an incredibly nostalgic emotion, mixed with intense agony. It was pleasing yet displeasing, sweet yet bitter. It hurt so much it was crushing him from the inside.

Why are they resurfacing now? What are the insinuations behind them? Was it because of how he was struck by the melancholy scene of the students, seeing it two days in a row, then triggering these wreckages out again? There’s no other way to explain this.

When the door of the train opened, he stepped into it, following the flow. This platform left him in a stupor, having him to bring back with him a superfluous stab in the chest.

He stared out of the window again before the train started moving, immediately finding himself staring at the same group of students again.

The sound around him muted. Time seemed to have stopped.

“…Youji?”

Black hair, fair skin, distrustful gaze – the name slipped. He heard of this name before – somewhere, somehow. But he couldn’t remember. He felt a deeper stab that came with the name.

This platform has changed things. Something must have happened here; something momentous.

Perhaps this was the answer to everything – the hint to where he could find that misplaced part of himself.

 

* * *

 

He really couldn’t understand why he did things the way he did it sometimes. Like why he came to stand in front of Komanami Private High School, one day after the inexplicable flashback he never knew he had. His legs had brought him there all by themselves; when he was supposed to take the train back from after classes, he now found himself walking into the school grounds after registering himself as the alumni of the school in the security hut, swarmed by nostalgia after years of not setting foot into this place.

Komanami Private High School was exactly like how he remembered it to be; nothing much seemed to have changed after he graduated. He made his way into the building, passing by the lobby, walking up the stairs where his former classroom was. All that was left in the school building were students staying back for their daily duties. He remembered himself doing the same thing too, always being the person having to deal with the trash. It wasn’t too niggling of a chore anyway, so he was always able to finish up his duty speedily. Just that… there’s always something about having to do this very daily duty that had him anticipating it. He couldn’t quite tell what it was; something to do with someone – a person, a classmate, likely – but yet the conversation exchanged between them was always little. He wondered why. It’s not hard for him to approach people and talk to them. But, this person was…

He scowled, realizing it being yet another portion of his elapsed memories.

He ceased his paces when his classroom came into view. Cautiously opening the door, he stood in the doorway, confounded by the scene. The classroom was tinted in shades of orange, an aftereffect of the evening rays. He took quiet, heavy steps towards his old seat, fingertips scraping along the surface of the table before he sat on the chair.

He never had hitches making out what was written on the board back then, despite his short-sightedness. But even so, he didn’t need to concentrate too hard in class to be able to understand everything. So instead, he’d sporadically find his gaze shifting to stare at the seat just two spaces ahead of his own. He’d always do it out of his own conscious, merely staring, at what or whom, he couldn’t remember. Just the fact that he’s sitting here now, being in the very same place where his very existence had done things that his brain couldn’t grasp exasperated him to no end.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, the pain in his chest grew with every passing second, with every new fragments of vanished memories he discovered. There were more things that he couldn’t remember, more than he expected. It’s unusual that he’s letting them haunt him now when he used to be able to effortlessly brush them off. He knew he should move forward; he had better things to focus on anyway. But something about his past is lugging on his leg, refusing to let him walk away just like that, and that very clutch only became more antagonistic with every passing day.

It has come to a point where the only way he could live normally again was to find the answers to every one of his unreciprocated questions.

He stood from his seat, took one last glimpse of the classroom, then left, walking along he unobtrusive corridor, down the staircases, heading towards the basement.

He was told that the reason why he’d collapsed off the rooftop was because of an incident – a bloodbath – that had happened in the school, at the same time when he was _also_ in the school for some matters. He was dragged into the situation, then finding himself almost drowning in the pool, waking up only a few months later with a bullet wound on his ribs and a piecemeal memory. He didn’t remember anything about the incident; he could only take whatever everyone else had told him as the truth.

His hand halted when he was about to open the Chemistry Lab’s door.

A sort of unsettling feelings had swarmed upon him, giving him more frustration that he already had. He knew this feeling; he knew it way too well. It’s something that had been breeding within him for the longest time ever. Apprehension; the feeling as if he was about to lose something important to him. He’d always been feeling it but the emotion was all the more gaudy this time, causing him to frown before he opened the door.

The lab was gloomy when he strode into the space. He looked around, trying to find a hint – _any_ sort of hint – that would trigger his memory but to no avail.

This was the place where the murder case ensued – the place where the Okinagas were killed. Yet, all that he could remember were shades of red that he presumed to be the mingling shades of the evening sunray.

He left, feeling emptier than before.

One last place. He’d stop by one last place before he resolved this conceivably pointless visit of his.

His footsteps reverberated stridently with every step he took as he mounted the stairs. It’d take a while for him to reach the top of the building, having to walk from the bottom floor to the top floor. But somehow, he didn’t feel any ounce of fatigue from having to do so. As if his legs had a conscious of their own, he climbed, floor by floor, the weight beneath his chest becoming heavier and heavier with every passing minute. Wanting to stop by the rooftop was purely a primitive thought. He didn’t stop to rest. With every stride he took, it gave him a delusion as if he was escaping from something he couldn’t see; as if reaching the top would give him the saviour he needed.

And finally, he only stopped to catch his breath when he reached where only a metal door was standing between his way and the rooftop. His warm hand shuddered ever so slightly when he made contact with the cold metal of the doorknob. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating, nor was he sure of why he was suddenly nervous. Taking in a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

He didn’t remember the door being this heavy before either.

The gust of evening wind was swift to brush past his face the moment he stepped out to the wide space. His footsteps no longer felt heavy as he sauntered, heading towards the edge of the place, and leaned against the fence. The sun had sunk lower in the sky, threads of light lingering in the air as warmth embraced him with the motion of the wind. The pool below reflected waves of orange and yellow, the smell of chlorine lanced his nose. It’s been years since he came here but yet, every scene his eyes could capture was nothing but familiar. Almost immediately, he found himself immersing in the peaceful air, soughing for the solitary he very much needed, and trying to soothe his mind from the rampage that was almost engulfing him from the inside earlier.

As expected, this was indeed the only place where he could find peace – the only place where everything felt right for once.

Since when did he find comfort here, he wondered? Perhaps ever since he started attending school here. It’s quiet, peaceful; as if it’s a place that belonged to him. Here, he could have a clear thought, unobtrusive, being a place where he could feel like himself.

He closed his eyes, wanting to calm himself more when he heard a sound from behind him, urging him to turn around, just to see the door leading towards the rooftop being pushed open.

So much for wanting some privacy.

He let out a trifling sigh, then returning his gaze to watch the sinking sun beyond the horizon. He should make a move soon. He’d been staying here for too long anyway. There’s nothing he could take away from here and he couldn’t see how staying longer would change anything.

He heard a small quiet ‘ah’ from behind him, presumably belonged to the person who’d just intruded his space, but he remained standing. Perhaps the person would leave if he saw that he’s not shunting from the spot.

Then, he heard footsteps; unhurried, careful ones, becoming louder with every passing second. And, when Tetsuo opened his eyes again, he realized that the person had come to stand by his side. He crooked his head – just a tad – to catch a glimpse of the person, an instinctive reaction of his own.

Black hair. Fair skin. His long eyelashes flutter with the cue of the wind. The man had a thick scarf swathed around his neck, startling Tetsuo, considering it being summer at this moment. His hands were in his coat’s pockets as he had his gaze held in the direction where Tetsuo was staring at earlier. Tetsuo was completely stunned. His heart was thumping stridently in his ears for some odd reason. He wanted to say something but his words were wedged in his throat, stopping him from doing exactly so. All that he could do was stare idiotically at the man, taking in every inch of his feature he could make out of, being utterly dumbfounded.

“Do you mind if I stand here too?” the man said, with a voice so soft, so gentle, yet not losing strength all at the same time.

Tetsuo nodded. He still couldn’t bring himself to speak. As if noticing his struggles, the man finally hove his eyes away from the sky, coming to look at Tetsuo instead.

A distrustful pair of eyes – as if he didn’t trust Tetsuo, as if Tetsuo was the one who’d invaded his space.

“Just for a bit,” he continued, sounding like he’s trying to comfort Tetsuo, or like he’s trying to tell Tetsuo that he’s definitely not a hassle to deal with.

Tetsuo wanted so much to tell him that he didn’t mind his company but his pulsating nerves were still getting the better of his voice. So instead, he released a hefty breath, feeling furious heartbeats at the verge of suffocating him, and joined the man to look at the sunset.

“It’s relaxing here. Feels calm,” the man continued speaking, as if he was speaking to himself. “I like it here.”

His words were little but they’re enough. Tetsuo listened. He listened to everything the man was saying, with no intention whatsoever to interrupt him.

“Do you like it here too?” the man now directed the question at him. Tetsuo nodded. He was _sure_ that he heard a nimble chuckle from the man. “I see.”

This was very unlike him. He’s just another man; a stranger, above all. But for some reason, Tetsuo couldn’t bring himself to say anything at all. It’s weird. He didn’t know what to think at all; his mind was at the verge of losing control and he needed to do something to stop himself from becoming insane.

“I used to come here a lot,” the man said. Taking it as an opportunity, Tetsuo opened his mouth.

“You were a student here too?” Tetsuo asked, words as heavy as his voice.

“Yeah. Though…” the man’s voice trailed in the end, becoming more and more silent. “I rarely attend classes. And I was transferred away in my second, or rather, third year. I stayed back for a year thanks to health problems.”

If that’s the case, Tetsuo must have seen him somewhere before. He didn’t look like he’s too much older or younger than Tetsuo anyway. But why didn’t he have any recollection at all about this person?

“Are you… okay now?” Tetsuo asked. He didn’t even know why he asked this question. It sounded way too personal for a stranger.

“Hmm,” the man pondered “I guess so? I guess not.”

Which is it? Tetsuo wondered.

“I feel like… there’s a reason why I need to be here. That’s why I—ah, sorry, I’ve spoken too much.”

He might’ve seen this man before. He was sure of it. Somewhere, when he wasn’t paying attention… somehow.

“By the way, I need to go now,” the man said before Tetsuo could come out with a conclusion.

When he turned around to look at the man, he was staggered to see that the man was smiling blithely at him, a contrast to how he’d reacted when he first saw him. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

He needed to say something, not stop him from leaving, but just to… _say something_.

He was sure that he’d seen him somewhere before. Just recently. Somewhere… he just needed to—

His eyes brightened. Yesterday, when he was on the station, one stop away from his home. When he was thinking about everything that he might’ve forgotten, when he was lost in his own elapsed memories. There was a man in his memory, and that man was—

“…Youji.”

The man froze in his steps, his hand already on the doorknob. He turned around, meeting Tetsuo in the eyes. Tetsuo wasn’t sure why and how the word had slipped from his lips. It was the only word he could bring himself to say. He wasn’t even sure if he actually knew the person of the name he’d just spoken of. But the man before him had properly reacted to it. He’d stopped moving, and was now looking at him, eyes wide.

“How do you…” he started, looking as astounded as Tetsuo. “Do I… know you?”

“I… don’t know,” Tetsuo admitted.

For a full second, they merely stared at each other, eyes stuck on the other, scrutinizing every feature of each other from the inside out, as if trying to remember each other’s existence in their minds.

“Youji,” Tetsuo tried calling again. And this time, the man – Youji – chortled.

“That’s my name, indeed,” Youji confirmed. Just that gesture alone had Tetsuo’s heart clenching from beneath his chest. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know why and how he knew the name of this man, he wasn’t even sure if he knew this man in the first place.

“Sakiyama Youji,” Youji said, drawing up a hand. Tetsuo dithered for just a tad before he took it, shaking it casually. Youji’s hand felt smaller than his. The moment they made contact, he could feel an illusionary sort of warmth spreading from where they were touching right into his heart.

For a split second, he felt relief; there’s this comfort within him that’d lifted all the anguishes he’d been facing for as long as he could remember off his entire being. It made him feel light.

He thought he’d found the answers to all of his questions.

It was a surreal, yet nostalgic feeling.

“Shironuma Tetsuo,” Tetsuo responded after a long moment, already feeling awkward.

Youji pulled their hands apart in response.

“Shironuma… right?” he paused, staring at Tetsuo, as if wanting to say something.

There’s something with the way Youji was calling him that had sent a pang right into his chest.

There’s something with the way Youji was staring at him that was attempting to trigger something out of his mind. Once again, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Tons of questions surfaced in his mind; he didn’t know where to start tackling them.

He was almost certain that Youji was holding the same confusion and the same anguish as him too.

But.

“Well then, I should… take my leave,” Youji broke the silence.

‘Don’t go’, Tetsuo wanted to say. But he kept the words to himself, figuring that he had no reasons to stop Youji from leaving.

And just like that, he watched Youji leave through the door, leaving him all alone on the rooftop, feeling as if he’d witnessed his only hope slipped out of his grasp.

 


	2. I believe our hearts meet again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this all a coincidence? Or is this meant to be?  
> Or is this something that only _they_ could decide?

He should’ve asked for his mobile phone number.

It was all that was in Tetsuo’s head as he lied on his bed, at 2AM in the morning, unable to sleep. He raised his hand, squinting at the shadow of his palm in the midst of darkness, still trying to figure out the root of the discomfiture he’d been feeling all day now. He could still vaguely feel the warmth of the man’s hand when they made contact -- as if it was a different sort of warmth Tetsuo had never come to know -- even though he was also certain that the man had body temperature below his own. He’d told Tetsuo that he’s sick after all, so Tetsuo shouldn’t be at all surprised if he was _still_ sick when they met on the rooftop. He was pale, his skin fair, the colour of his eyes and his hair being a contrast; one obtrusive feature of their own -- one that had left a vigorous impression for Tetsuo. When he blinked, his long eyelashes fluttered, and when he looked at Tetsuo, all that he could see was a mild distrust in the depth of his eyes that spilled resolutely of how much he wasn’t ready to be more involved with a stranger like Tetsuo.

Were they really strangers, though?

Perhaps to the man, Tetsuo _really_ was a stranger. But for Tetsuo, he couldn’t bring himself to dismiss everything he was feeling as being him over thinking. The shadow that he’d caught sight at the platform was a vivid evidence, a solid-hard truth. Perhaps they’d met there before, at the train station, when the man was nothing more than a passer-by. But something in him begged to differ. He’d never been so engrossed with another human being in such a way before. There must be a reason to why he was feeling so now.

A reason that he must’ve forgotten, like how he’d lost his memories.

Was the man part of his forgotten memories then? But the man didn’t seem to be able to recall him at all. Could everything that he had been feeling a mistake then?

_Sakiyama Youji_.

“...Youji.”

An offbeat  stab hit him in the chest. He pulled his hand away, letting it fall powerlessly by his side. Just by remembering the name had tension welling up from his stomach, let alone calling it out loud.

How, why, and when did he come to know about the name?

And why -- just _why_ \-- was the name giving him emotions that he never knew he held?

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes. It’s already 3AM. He’d need to attend school tomorrow and the last thing he needed was to attend classes with a half-conscious mind.

He turned to his side, trying to shut his mind off, even though he knew that nothing he did would work to his favour.

He really should’ve asked for the man’s mobile number.

 

* * *

 

A routine -- attending classes, heading home, sometimes staying back to work for a part-time job; and the day would come to an end just like that. It’s the same routine he’d been going through for five whole years now -- and today. Attending classes, going through lectures that he’d already more than well-versed with. He yawned a few times, spaced out most of the time, and before he knew it, the classes for the day had come to an end. He stood, packing up mindlessly, having no clue whatsoever of what lectures he’d been through. It didn’t matter anyway. It’s not like he needed to catch up or anything. Rather, he was already way ahead than everyone else. He was sure that he could graduate with no problem whatsoever.

With another yawn, he slung his bag over his shoulder and was about to walk out of the lecture hall when he noticed a familiar shadow behind him.

“Not today,” he said before the man could ask. He felt just a tad bad but he was way too sleepy today to be engaged with more social interactions. He’s lucky that he was off from his part-time job today so all he wanted to do now was to head home and take a quick nap before he looked out for food.

He didn’t have much of an appetite either so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

He walked the mundane route heading towards the train station again. The moment he stood on the platform, his vision lifted instinctively to stare at the opposite platform. Again. That bizarre feeling had returned. He caught sight of the same group of students, feeling as if he was living in a memory -- one that was yesterday and day before yesterday -- before he shook his head. Whatever that had happened yesterday was pure coincidence. He’d been feeling unlike himself for a while now so it’s not surprising at all for him to feel too much, especially when he’s been thinking too much himself.

The man must simply be someone he’d met in a convenience store or something. It must be then that he’d caught sight of his name, and that’s perhaps the whole reason behind why he knew the name. And perhaps, when that very scenario had occurred, he wasn’t being very much like himself either, spacing out and only catching up with his memory when he met the man again. 

Coincidentally.

Yeah, that could just be it.

He released a sigh. Now that he thought about it, he’d been sighing too much lately. He’s starting to feel like an old man. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he frowned. This needs to be stopped. There’s no way he could move forward at this rate. Whatever that had happened in the past should remain in the past. There’s no point chasing after an illusion.

The train pulled in just in time to cut his thoughts short. And, once again, he followed the stream of rushing humans, squeezed into the train, stood near the door, and watched as the group of students left his line of vision.

His heart still felt heavy, even more so after encountering the man yesterday. But he’d lost all clues to find out more answers and it was all his own fault for not taking more initiatives when he had his chance. There’s nothing else he could do now but to suck it up and endure the circumstances to his untaken actions. One time was a coincidence, a second time -- if it ever came to that -- would imply that it’s meant to be. If there’s any chance for him to make up for the lost opportunities, then he should be waiting for the second chance instead of sulking around like this.

He felt just a bit more relieved once he settled with that train of thought.

But the bliss lasted just for a while.

The weather seemed to be epitomizing his subconscious feelings that he was still in denial with as it started pouring the moment he attempted to find for something else within his eyesight to distract himself with. He reached back, finding his bag and found a weight lifted off the guts of his stomach when he located the umbrella pressed between the gaps of his thick textbooks. Many years of his mother’s unceasing reminders seemed to have bear its fruits. He must’ve put the umbrella in his bag out of his own conscious; all automatic reflexes. He returned his gaze to the scene outside of the window, now finding comfort in the tip-tapping of rainwater against the glass window.

The train seemed to be creating a shield around him, protecting him from the pitter-patter of the rain. He hadn’t been noticing how the sky had turned grey as he doused himself in his own thoughts; icy grey skies grumbled without break, one simply needed to stand under the sky for two seconds and they’d be drenched wet from head to toe. As if he hadn’t been agitated enough throughout the day, Tetsuo flinched as the mere realization of him having to take a longer time to walk home under this weather loomed upon him. He looked away from the window, no longer wanting to be reminded of how forlorn a man he was now, when his attention was completely and conveniently captured by a man standing just a few feet away from him.

The man was leaning against the door, as if using it as a support, his hand gripping steadfastly onto his bag. He wasn’t looking at Tetsuo’s direction but Tetsuo could make out from his side profile that he wasn’t feeling too well, as if he’d faint anytime now. 

His body acting on its own, he crammed his way through the crowd, trying to come as close to the man as possible, and eyes brightening when he noticed that his hunch hadn’t been playing a fool on him after all.

One time is a coincidence, a second time meant that it’s meant to be. He’d told himself that he’d let fate make the decision for him and if such opportunity fell upon him again, he’d make sure to grasp onto it.

This opportunity -- this _second chance_ \-- was now right here, right in front of his eyes, and he’d be an utter idiot if he let it slip again.

But that’s merely his wishful thinking. Even when he was standing right behind the man, he didn’t know how he should approach him. All he needed to do was probably just to call out to him; the man should recognize him by now, they’d just met yesterday after all -- at the same time as now.

He opened his mouth, trying, but immediately closing it again, voice stuck in his throat. The man didn’t seem to be noticing his presence as he kept his eyes out of the window. His lips white, his face paler than Tetsuo remembered it to be. He was  _ definitely _ not looking very well.

Taking in a deep breath, Tetsuo released it, then opening his mouth again.

“Sakiya--”

It happened when he was blinking. With a soft thud, the man pressed his palm against the window, his eyes closed, his breathing truncated and short. Without thinking, Tetsuo stretched his hand, holding onto the man from behind, his arm encircling around the man’s chest, preventing his fall.

He seemed like he was about to faint soon. While Sakiyama Youji tried to adjust his composure, Tetsuo continued holding onto him, feeling his heartbeats thumping against his arm. Out of reflex, he brought him close, having Sakiyama Youji’s back to press against his chest, an attempt to keep him safe as he fought with his internal struggles.

Sakiyama Youji was… surprisingly small in his arm. He was certain that their body size difference wasn’t at all massive but somehow, holding onto him like this gave him a strong urge to protect, as if he was meant to do so, as if that’s the reason for his existence. He wasn’t sure how should he react to this newfound, even nostalgic emotion but all that he knew was that he didn’t want to let Sakiyama Youji go now. It’s the least he could do for him, even when Sakiyama Youji clearly wasn’t aware of it. 

Minutes passed like hours. When the train pulled into a stop, Sakiyama Youji looked up, as if trying to make out the stop they’d come into. It was one stop before Tetsuo’s house; it was the same stop where Tetsuo had brought himself onto just two days ago, for no apparent reason at all. 

And the moment Sakiyama Youji straightened himself up to walk out of the rain, everything started making sense for Tetsuo --

\-- the reason why he’d stopped here, why  _ something _ in him made him stop here.

It’s because of Youji.

He released Youji, then watched as Youji squeeze through the flow of humans as he spaced out. He felt as if a brick was thrown into his face, causing him to lose track of time. When he came back to himself, he’d found himself running out of the train even before he realized it himself, and onto the stop that wasn’t his own, rushing towards Youji.

Youji had no umbrella. He must have troubles going back. And that very suspicion of Tetsuo’s was proven right when he found Youji standing just near the exit of the station, looking up at the sky with a light sigh. Gathering every ounce of nerves in his body, Tetsuo took slow, heavy steps towards Youji, opened up his umbrella and hovered it over Youji’s head.

“Huh?”

Youji turned around, eyes widening the moment he saw Tetsuo, who was standing right behind him.

“You are…” Youji trailed off, retracing his memory. “...from yesterday.”

Tetsuo nodded. He should say something.

“It’s raining.”

“Ah, yeah,” Youji followed.

“You don’t have an umbrella?” Tetsuo asked, his expression blank, his voice low.

“I forgot,” Youji managed a weak smile. “But it should be stopping soon.”

“I’ll send you home.”

“Huh?”

Tetsuo didn’t even know what had made him say that. Everything that had spilled from his lips were like the most natural thing for him to tell Youji. While Youji stared bemusedly at him, he took a step towards Youji, coming to stand by his side.

“It’s not going to stop any time soon,” he explained, trying to convince himself at the same time. “And I can’t leave someone in trouble by himself.”

“Ah…” Youji released a hushed voice. “I see…”

There was a moment of silence before Youji spoke again.

“Do you stay here too?”

“No,” Tetsuo was quick to answer. “But this stop is near to my house.”

It took a while but Youji finally smiled at him at long last, accompanied with a nod.

“Thank you.”

Everything felt way too natural for him. Every pace that they took, every passing minute of silence that they shared; it’s as if they were living in a memory, a past that they no longer had any idea of.

None of them said anything as they made their way towards the direction of Youji’s house. It’s to be expected. They weren’t friends in the first place, let alone knowing what to say to each other. They were simply a pair of strangers, who’d met each other by chance just yesterday, in a place that held profound significance to the both of them. It’s as if that very place had pulled them together, encouraging them to meet, and everything that was to happen next would be all depended on their own decisions.

But if Tetsuo was to allow silence to continue spreading between them like this, then it’d mean losing another chance to make sense of every out-of-place thoughts that he’d been feeling. He felt like he should say something.

_ Anything _ .

Yet, his various attempts fell into demise as they walked. By the time he was starting to feel a vigorous sense of hatred towards himself, Youji had stopped walking.

“It’s here,” he said in what sounded like a whisper.

Tetsuo looked around. They were standing in front of a mansion. It’s a two-storey mansion and judging by how no one has come out to greet Youji, Tetsuo figured that he must be living by himself.

“Do you stay alone?” he asked, just in case.

“Huh? Ah, yeah,” Youji replied briefly. “Thank you for sending me back.”

Tetsuo merely nodded. 

“Well, I guess… I should leave now,” Youji lifted a smile. As he took a step towards the house, Tetsuo reached out, clutching him on the wrist, catching him off guard.

“Do you…” he started, but finding voice stuck in his throat all over again. Youji was staring at him with curiosity in his eyes, clearly waiting for him to finish his words.

He needs to do it, Tetsuo cursed at himself from the inside. It’d make no sense for them to meet again if he didn’t take a step now. This step was crucial.

“Do you want to hang out some other day?”

Youji stared at him, gaping. He stared, trying to read the expression on Tetsuo’s face, which was one of hollow, before he broke the silence himself.

“Hang out, as in…?”

“Eat together, or… something,” Tetsuo squandered the first thing that came to his mind.

“Something like repaying you for sending me back today?” Youji speculated.

That’s not what Tetsuo implied but if that’s the only way to hold Youji back…

“Yeah, something like that,” he asserted.

“Ah,” Youji said, looking at Tetsuo as if he’d just noticed something. “Sure. Erm, where to?”

“What do you like to eat?” Tetsuo asked instead.

“Huh? Nothing in particular.”

“How about this Sunday? I’ll pick you up from the station.”

“Oh, sure,” Youji responded, surprised by the hasty rush of pace in Tetsuo’s tone of voice. “Oh yeah, also.”

He fumbled in his coat’s pocket, bringing out his mobile phone.

“Perhaps we should exchange mail addresses and numbers then. It’d make it easier for communication, right?”

“Sure,” Tetsuo said, searching around his pocket and pulling his mobile phone out.

“Shironuma… Tetsuo, right?” Youji spelled, keying in Tetsuo’s name.

“Yeah,” Tetsuo confirmed. Having Youji to say his name in such a way still did things to him.

“I’m Sakiyama Youji, but you should’ve known that already,” Youji ended with a chuckle that sounded oddly like a tease.

“Well then,” Youji said, keeping his mobile phone back into his pocket. “I guess we shall see each other this Sunday?”

“Sure,” was all Tetsuo could manage.

And with a wave of hand, he stared as Youji walked up to the second floor of the mansion, turning around to give Tetsuo another wave of hand, and still staring even after Youji had closed to door, wondering what had happened in the past hour.

 


End file.
